Quest into the Blue
by FandomsGoneWild
Summary: The War of the Ring is past. Almost all of the elves have sailed...and so has Gandalf. Some aren't quite ready to accept a wizardless world, however, and a company of five sets out to find the elusive Blue wizards. Are they ready for what they will find past the Mountains of the East?
1. I NEED OC'S!

**As you probably guessed, I need OC's. I honestly stink at creating them. I promised you a summary, and here it is:**

**The two Blue wizards disappeared into the East long ago, so long that no one even remembers their names. However, with Gandalf soon to sail to Valinor, Saruman dead, and Radaghast hesitant to 'meddle' in the affairs of Middle Earth, Braigwen, a Dunedain girl of Gondor, goes in search of the two Blues. She distrusts anyone who tries to approach her as she prepares, but she finds herself saddled with a 'Fellowship' of her own before she treks into the East. More than the mysteriously vanished wizards live there, however...and it is soon up to the ragtag group to stop a war that their homelands are not prepared for.**

**Now that that's out of the way - anyone interested in sending me an OC? They can be any race, gender...anything, really. Remember: first come, first serve! I'll try to fit everyone in, though, even just in passing!**

Name:

Race: (Uruk, Man, Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit, Dunedain, Dragon (yes, dragons are a part of this.))

Gender: (Male or Female)

Appearance:

Personality:

Backstory:

Homeland:

Possible relation to Non-OC?: (optional)

Pairing?: (optional)

Part of the "Fellowship" or an outside influence?:

**Please leave your OC in a review or send it to me via PM!**


	2. A Journey Begins

**Thanks to Lotr Fan (Guest) for the imagining of Syn (pronounced 'Sign') and Liontalon for Hithon and Hithaerel!**

_Chapter One: A Journey Begins_

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Braigwen was never one for sitting idly and watching things pass her by. Some would even say that it had been bred into her, passed down through a long line of Gondorian Rangers and strengthened by her hard years leading to and during the War of the Ring. Hers was a wild heart, never content to sit back and let the world change around her, and she was proud of it. She was proud of anything and everything in her life, in fact. Of her strangely short height (little taller than a dwarf), her wild mess of dark brown hair that hadn't seen a proper brush since she was a teen, her (somewhat limited) skill with daggers, and her life among her kin in the Wild. She was fiercely independent and hated to be hindered in any way...and she despised the very prospect of asking for 'help'.

Her small build had been to her advantage in the War, allowing her to bypass the swings of her taller opponents, and this only boosted her ego. In fact, many of her kin had laughed in the aftermath that she was the proudest Ranger of all of Arda. She was, of course, undeterred by these conversations, hearing them as compliments instead. She held tightly to the ways she had been raised in, but Middle Earth was changing. So, infuriated at how the old ways of the Rangers were fading, she packed her belongings one morning...and left.

The lands that the Rangers of Gondor lived in, now dubbed Ithilien, while not orc-infested, still held their dangers. Bandits, for one, and wild animals for another. Braigwen made it a point to never leave without her daggers, no matter what, because of these threats. Her pack, while not heavy or burdensome, was still almost an alarm as to her presence, if any were around to hear it. She had few belongings, all of them essential to survival, but they weren't necessarily _silent. _In fact, the shallow skillet hanging from the side of her pack was hitting against one of the metal buckles on it so frequently with her loping gait that it sounded like there was a bell following her - a cowbell.

_Clang...clang...clang...cla-_ The sound cut off abruptly as Braigwen snarled silently and held the skillet still, looking around warily, as if an entire battalion of orcs would burst out of the thick, shaded undergrowth. That wasn't what happened, however, and the young Ranger blinked in shock at the voice that called out to her.

"Greetings! And what business brings so fair a maiden into Ithilien at this hour? And without a guard, no less! Pray tell, young one!" It was elven, no doubt about that. She narrowed her eyes. The elves had all left! How..?

_Thud! _a tall, lithe body fell neatly out of a tree not far to her left, landing easily on his feet. The elf smiled, a mischievous glint in his sky-blue eyes. Braigwen frowned. That look didn't bode well.

He looked like any other elf she'd seen in her forty-two years; silver-blond hair, pale complexion, tall, mostly clad in earthy colors, besides the gray cloak that hung over his shoulders. But he was missing one thing that had become all too common among his kind - the sea-longing. There was no longing to sail in his eyes. Instead, he looked like he was going to annoy the Ranger he'd stumbled across.

"Leave me alone." Braigwen turned on her heel and strode to the north, gritting her teeth as, not only did her skillet clang against her pack, but the elf loped after her, a broad, vibrant grin spread across his face. His footsteps were barely audible alongside the Ranger's.

"Come, now! Surely you have a reason to have ventured so far from your home? These woods are fraught with danger, you know. Giant, man-eating wolves, the foulest of orcs, malevolent spirits that would steal the life out of the likes of you! I daresay that you would need a g-"

"I know very well what the woods of Ithilien house, thank you very much, and there are none of the beasts you describe. And until recently, I believe, there were no elves. If you would excuse me..." She sped to a jog, hoping the elf would leave her alone. No such luck, however, and he rapidly caught up to her.

"I'm afraid that you aren't excused, my lady! I can hardly allow such a fragile, dainty thing as yourself to-"

He was cut off by a cold, unforgiving pressure on his throat. Braigwen scowled at him as she pressed his favored dagger against his windpipe. Her black-brown gaze had turned just as sharp and deadly as the thin-edged blade she held ready. "I would thank you kindly, _elf, _to not call me _dainty _or _fragile_!" The words were near-silent, a hiss that floated on the breeze, and she curled her lip at the elf she was currently in a position to...well...kill. He looked blatantly shocked, and a bit nervous as he lifted a hand in an attempt to push the knife away.

"I...I...sorry?"

Braigwen snarled, audibly this time, as she pressed the dagger into the soft flesh of his neck hard enough to draw blood. The thin line of red was sharp against his skin, and he paled considerably. "_Sorry? _I thought that elves were supposed to be gifted with words. _Sorry _does not even _begin _to cover how you should feel."

"Hithon? Hithon, I _told _you, this isn't Lothlorien! You can hardly go running off in any direction and expect to not fall into some sort of trouble! And you left your sword..._Hithon, what in Valar's name did you do?!" _Another elf, just as tall and fair as the first, only female, had seemingly materialized from the early morning fog. She wore an icy-blue dress, with her long, silvery hair braided exactly like the other elf's...Hithon, wasn't it? Her blue eyes were just a shade deeper than the other elf's, and a bit sharper, like she was used to being the one responsible for getting things done. Her reprimanding gaze wasn't on Braigwen, however - it was centered on Hithon with unnerving intensity. "_Every week, _now, Brother! Every Valar-forsaken week now you manage to find a new way to try and seal your fate as the most foolish elf to step foot in Arda! And upsetting a Ranger! Why couldn't you just stay in Lothlorien like I suggested? You would certainly live longer there."

"Hithaerel..." Hithon whispered, turning his head slightly away from Braigwen. The dagger dragged across his throat, lengthening the scratch. "Could you please help? I...I'm in a slight jam, as the Men say..."

Hithaerel rolled her eyes and glided closer to the two. An emotionless glance was spared in Braigwen's direction. "Don't be afraid to leave him with some scratches, Ranger. He needs to learn that he isn't invulnerable."

Braigwen let out a hissing breath, digging her dagger momentarily into Hithon's throat, and then withdrew it and sank it back into its sheath. Her steps were much louder as she stormed away, and her infuriated yell echoed though Ithilien as her skillet picked up its unending rhythm. The twins stared after her for a moment before Hithaerel jabbed her brother harshly in the side, scowling. "You are truly an idiot, Brother."

Hithon jabbed her back, but it was light and playful. "And you, sister mine, are such an inspiration to all us lesser beings." His shout shortly afterwards caused all the birds in the area to take flight in alarm.

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The armored Rohir attracted many gazes in the busy Gondorian market. He strode about with an air of authority, armed with a broad sword and a spear that he handled with practiced ease, and it was this intimidating look that caused the crowd to clear a path wherever the warrior went. He wore full battle armor, complete with a concealing helm with a plume of horse hair rising from it, and a small nosepiece in the shape of a horse's head. His armor was the most basic, run-of-the-mill thing that Ronan had to offer, but to the Gondorians, it was a grand vision from the land of the Horse-Lords. Years had passed since the shining gold and silver armor of a Rohir had been seen in the White City.

Syn didn't like the whispers. Every citizen in the marketplace was speaking of the warrior all at once: "He must be of high standing!" and "Do you think he might be a prince?" Of course, it was flattering to anyone when they were assumed to be royalty, but...really? Syn scowled at a young man from under the heavy helm as he shouted, "Good morning, sir!" Was it really that hard to tell?

"Excuse me, but if you would find it in yourself to _move," _an accented female voice piped up behind the Rohir. Boots scuffed the ground as Syn turned to face the Gondarian. It was a woman, barely into her twenties, dressed in dark, forest-green and mud-splattered trousers. Her hair was a mess, little more than a bush on top of her head, and she was short and thin, but she glared at the warrior with enough bravery to have been a seasoned fighter herself. She also looked annoyed enough to punch someone at any moment.

"My apologies," Syn muttered, stepping aside. The Ranger - what else could the woman be? - shoved angrily ahead. The Rohir had a half mind to try and catch up (it had been months since her last fight) but instead shrugged and turned away. Who was she to pick fights with a descendant of elves?

Yes, _she. _Syn, daughter of Dimyr, was female, a shieldmaiden of her homeland, and...a bit crude, to be honest. Fights were her forte, and biting insults her weapon of choice. The oldest of five and therefore the role model, she had learned to fight early on in life, courtesy of her father, and her younger siblings - Myr, Teg, Eothed, and Lyr - had followed suit. But trouble never left the Riddermark for long at all, and all manner of bandits had soon plagued the land. Just following the War of the Ring, Syn had left her home in the Wold and joined a small team of vigilantes called the Sceald, Rohirric for 'Shield'.

The Sceald had been scattered, however, when the bandits had attacked all at once one night, while the twenty-something warriors rested, which led to Syn, one of only a few survivors, traipsing about the market and looking for a job. However, her temper was rapidly flaring as her bulky armor and strong build made several people believe that she was indeed a _he. _She needed to find an employer, and fast, before she got herself kicked out for beating someone up.

She reached up and pulled off her helm, shaking her head as her thick black hair protested at being tied up for so long. The thin braids at either of her temples were pulled back as well, but not enough to cause pain. Her sharp, stormy eyes darted around the market as the Gondorians stopped almost all at once, some startled by her gender and others by the brutal scar than arced down the side of her face, courtesy of a bandit who had nearly taken her life. She stared levelly at each person until they slowly drifted off, glancing back at her repeatedly.

"What? Never seen a shieldmaiden before, ya lazy lumps? Get out more! You look pale enough." She smirked as more than a few glares were sent her way. She held her head high and walked off, keeping an eye out for anyone who might hire someone with a sword. She started whistling at some point, a harsh kind of amusement filtering into her gaze as the people around her tensed in annoyance. She let out an especially shrill whistle, and a few of them jumped or broke what they were holding...including the Ranger from before. The woman angrily snapped the sheaf of waybread she held and turned to glare at Syn. Two pairs of eyes, one brown and annoyed and one gray and amused, met before she rolled her eyes and turned back to the marketeer she had been speaking to, handing over the piece of silver needed for the broken sheaf.

Syn started to turn away, whistling turning to humming, as she strode to the gates - obviously, she wasn't going to get a job here - when an irritated voice stopped her. "I suppose you think that was terribly funny."

She smirked as she spun her spear across the back of her hand, not turning around. "Uh huh. Real funny." She couldn't keep the laugh out of her voice, and she didn't try to. The Ranger scowled.

"I wouldn't expect anything else from a flea-bitten Rohir mutt." Syn froze, her calloused fingers failing to grasp the shaft of her spear before it clattered to the ground. Her gaze had turned deadly as she faced the Ranger.

"And I wouldn't expect an ounce of decorum from a descendant of pointy-eared tree-huggers! Go and sing a song while you abandon all of us petty mortals by sailing away, will you? It'd be a lot less trouble for me."

"Trouble for _you? _Well, I don't believe that it was _you _that lost a silver piece because of broken waybread!" The two glared at each other.

"Elf-kid."

"Mongrel!"

"...elf-kid." Syn kicked herself. She had never lost an insult battle! Never! Was elf-kid really the best name she could come up with?

Well, it didn't matter now. The Ranger was walking away. But...she looked like she was going on a journey. She would need more protection than those little knives, after all...

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**So how was it? I hope I portrayed Hithon, Hithaerel and Syn like they were imagined...and you can still submit an OC! There are two spots left for characters in Braigwen's 'Fellowship'. Please leave an OC! The angry Ranger will beat you up otherwise...**


	3. An Unlikely Alliance

**Thanks to everyone who sent in an OC! The as-of-yet unnamed "Fellowship" is complete! That doesn't mean that no one else is going to make an appearance, though...**

_Chapter Two: An Unlikely Alliance_

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Dale was a peaceful place. Some would even say that magic had a hand in it, the silence was so uncanny. The wind could blow, rattling the windowpanes, and summer rain could fall, making the cobbled streets slick with water, but not so much as an angry word would make an appearance. At least, not while it was cool out, and the shopkeepers and toymakers kept their fair prices standing. But if anyone happened to look out of their window...

If anyone looked out of their window, they would see a most unusual sight - after all, both elves and Uruks had become exceedingly rare, to the point of legend in fact, in recent years, and to see a Man with them made it completely impossible.

The Uruk was a daunting sight, standing so tall that he even towered over his elven companion, and wearing full Uruk battle armor - minus the helmet. He'd unfortunately lost that a long time ago. Underneath the crude metal plates, however, were regular clothes. _Clean _clothes. There wasn't so much as a blood spot on the pristine brown fabric of his tunic, which had been made from the fabric of _two _normal-sized tunics, and his pants were even _rolled up _at his ankles, lifting the hems above the mud that rarely made an appearance in the markets of Dale. He looked more intrigued than murderous, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

The she-elf was both frightening and beautiful, as with many of her people before they were killed. Her hair and eyes were the same shade of dark brown, and she was tall, with a build that was a bit broader than usual for an elf. The Avari - her people - had been a small people to begin with, and the Last Alliance had seen them driven into legend as an extinct culture. Two of them remained, however - Erestor, who had found protection among other elves during the battle, and his sister, Alena, who, while having led the Avari army, had been knocked out and thought dead with the first wave of orcs. Her brother had found her in the aftermath and nursed her back to health, restoring her a chief to a dead people. She hadn't gotten over that fact, not by a long shot, but she was at peace with the Uruk she traveled with - Turig the Strong, a half-orc turned traitor to Saruman and Sauron alike. He had defended the White City of Gondor with his life, earning him a place of renown in history, and the friendship of a wizard - Gandalf the White.

The Man's presence, while unthinkable, made a bit more sense as to why this unlikely duo were in the peaceful, predawn city of Dale. Christopher Merryweather was not, after all, a normal citizen. Suspicions abounded about him being a thief, but if so, then he was a notoriously cautious one: not a single scrap of evidence could be found that he had taken any of the missing items. He had a valid job, too - a bargeman. But he didn't carry barrels, empty or otherwise, which made the scene suddenly very clear. He was going to ferry the pair down the River Running.

"Well? C'mon, then! Dawn comes quickly at this time o' year, and I don't fancy tha' you'd like to be seen by the townsfolk. They're a mighty suspicious bunch, and you'd be right at the top o' their list if ya don't hurry." Christopher - or Chris, as he preferred to be called - started to untie his barge from is docking place in the shallow river that ran alongside Dale, glancing at Alena and Turig as he did so. Turig, as usual, took action immediately, climbing onto the barge with two loud clomps from his heavy boots and sitting down cross legged near the bow. Alena hesitated a moment, glancing around the sleeping town, and Chris spoke up again.

"Ya might want to get on quick, Miss. Toy shop right behind ya opens in about five minutes or so." She shook her head, nodded afterwards, and jumped onto the barge as it drifted slightly away from the bank. The deck shuddered at the impact, but Alena just took a seat beside Turig, oblivious to Chris taking a flying leap towards the escaping barge and almost landing in the water. "Where to, again?" He questioned, moving to stand beside the rudder.

"As far south as you can take us," Alena replied, still looking straight ahead. She had heard rumors of other elves living in the south, others who, like her, had refused to sail. She might not have been the one of the last Avari, after all. Turig was just tagging along for the sake of being somewhere new, she supposed, but she wasn't going to complain. The Uruk's company was more pleasurable in its silence than if she were to travel alone. The Uruk looked back over his shoulder, offering Chris a reassuring grin. What he meant it to convey was, "Don't worry, she's always like this." What came to Chris' mind was, "By the Valar, its teeth are sharp. Ignore it and hope its not hungry..."

Shivering, Chris abandoned the rudder for a moment, picking up the long pole he kept against the wall of the barge. He jabbed it at the bank, and the barge shook before gliding almost silently down the river. Wordlessly, Alena took the pole from the human's hands, digging it into the water like a paddle. Chris looked shocked for a moment, and then he returned to the rudder.

"You...have experience with boats then, Miss?"

Alena glanced at him, still moving the barge along the unmoving river. "Even a child could understand that the river is not moving, so the barge must be moved manually. Rock."

"Wha-Oh!" Chris pulled back on the rudder, causing the barge to swerve away from the rock that just barely broke the surface of the water. Turig lurched sideways, catching himself before he could hit the deck, and grumbled something in Black Speech. Whatever it was, it made Alena smile.

The day slowly wore on, each hour seeing the trio doing the exact same thing - Alena shoving the pole against the river bed, Turig sitting at the bow, and Chris steering the barge. By the middle of the day, they had passed the corner of Mirkwood that the River Running passed through, and the current picked up. Alena set the pole back against the wall of the barge and sat down beside Turig once more, watching the sun-baked fields on either side of her glide by. Chris was having a harder time with the rudder, seeing as how rocks were becoming more and more common, but this wasn't his first time downriver - not once did the barge collide with any of the obstacles that surrounded it. As the sun set and stars dotted the sky, Chris nodded towards the pole.

"Shove us off into that creek there, would you?" Alena climbed to her feet, stretching after almost six hours of doing nothing, and picked up the pole again. The barge jolted with the miscalculated force behind the push, but it still slid into the smaller stream that broke off from the river. Turig instantly looked more interested - he'd never been here before during his travels in the aftermath of the War. The rudder wasn't of any use here - it would have just scraped along the bottom of the stream. Instead, Chris sat back and let Alena pole them through the calm, shallow waters. He smirked and looked down at the little bauble in his hands. The sight and senses of elves were clearly over exaggerated, seeing as how he'd stolen the bracelet clean off of her wrist when she took the pole from him...

"That does not belong to you, Bargeman." Chris jumped considerably, almost falling overboard. Turig had turned around, scowling as he looked between the clay bracelet and the thief. He started to draw his scimitar from its sheath, but was stopped by a tap on the shoulder. Alena returned the pole to the water as she watched her friend.

"It's nothing important, Turig. I can make another one just as easily as he stole that one. The paints, however, will be a different story..." She pursed her lips, thinking of how much just the vibrant blue dye had cost, not to mention the other colors. Green and brown were much cheaper, seeing as how they could be made out of nearly anything. "I would be much more upset if he had taken my crown."

Chris perked up immediately, eyes going wide as he registered this. Crown? But only royalty...

Alena snorted at his expression before reaching up into her smooth hair, drawing out a long braid that had been hidden among the locks. An ornate silver cylinder was woven into it, boasting a proud design of swirls and flowers. "It is made from the destroyed metal of the crown that belonged to my mother, once. Take this, and I would have hunted you down and given you the slowest, most painful death any Man ever suffered."

Chris gulped and nodded, looking away. Turig seemed satisfied with the threat, only pausing to growl threateningly at the bargeman. The clay bracelet slipped unseen into a pouch at the thief's side.

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"Why are you following me, mutt?" Braigwen questioned harshly, glaring openly at Syn as she whirled around. The Rohir smiled innocently and planted the end of her spear into the ground. She bowed in a mocking way, almost seeming to Bob up and down on the streets of Minas Tirith.

"Syn, daughter of Dimyr, at your service. I am your new companion!" Braigwen jerked back, shaking her head rapidly.

"No! I don't want any..._companions, _thank you very much!" She spat out the word 'companions' like it might bite her, but Syn wasn't going to be deterred. She ran forward and swung her spear in front of the Ranger, still grinning. The two glared at each other for a long moment, and then Braigwem drew her knives in a long, deliberate movement, making sure that the glint of the well-polished daggers caught the attention of everyone on the street, as if they weren't already watching. In turn, Syn leaned her spear against a cart and drew her sword in a flash, an excited glint in her eyes.

"How about this, Ranger. Ya beat me in a fight, an' I'll leave ya alone. _I _beat ya in a fight, an' you have ta let me tag along. Deal?" She started edging sideways, trying to imagine the Ranger as one of the bandits that had killed off the Sceald. Somewhat reluctantly, the woman nodded.

"Deal."

Syn dove in for the attack, sword raised high above her head, but Braigwen had noticed her getting ready to strike earlier and brought up her daggers so fast that gasps rang through the watching crowd and the circle the two were enclosed in widened a bit. The Ranger shoved against the Rohir's sword with a grunt, and both weapon and wielder fell backwards. Braigwen ran at Syn before she had a chance to recover, raising both daggers as if to go for the kill - which she had no intention of doing, as all she had to do was hold the shieldmaiden at knifepoint like she'd done with the elf, Hithon - but the ground suddenly rushed to meet her, and her jaw knocked violently against the stones, causing the sharp tang of her own blood to fill her mouth.

Syn grinned wildly as she lurched to her feet, and Braigwen groaned as the cold pressure of the other woman's sword pressed against the side of her throat. "I believe I won, elf-kid. Now...where are you headed to?"

"The Mountains of the East and beyond. Now, _let me up!" _Syn laughed as she stepped back, sheathing her sword and picking up her spear again. Braigwen did the same to her daggers - noting that they were dull again - and staggered upright, rubbing her jaw.

"Any particular reason?" Syn had to admit, she was curious. No one just up and decided that they were going to not only see the Mountains of the East, but that they were going to cross over them. It was literally unheard of. Unless one counted two certain wizards...

"The terms were that you would just tag along. 'Tag along' does not mean that you need to know the reason behind the journey." Braigwen started off down the street, the crowd from the fight starting to disperse. The Rohir's heavier footsteps followed her closely and she sighed. This was going to be the hardest feat of her young life...

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**I just have two things to say:**

**One: I'm stuck on what the name of the 'Fellowship' should be. I can't keep calling them the Fellowship, because everyone seems to think that I mean the Fellowship of the Ring. Something starting with League of or Band of might work, but I don't have any definites yet.**

**Two: THIS APPLIES TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT OR IS THINKING OF LEAVING AN OC. I do have plans for this story, but there are certain issues that need to be cleared up. There will be a villain in this story, and maybe several minor villains, but some of them might happen to be OC's. There also might be character death, ad once again, some of them might be OC's. If you are alright with pretty much anything happening to your OC(s), please leave a review ending with, "Giant Purple Pancakes." If you do not want anything happening to your OC that might lead to death, please leave a review saying, "The Math Homework Ate My Dog." If you skipped this A/N... We're all going to be laughing at you as you try and figure out what's up with the reviews.**

**Thank you for reading!**


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